


Mercury Under His Tongue

by thescariestadverbs



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cancer, Character Death, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, fallen!cas, s8, sick!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-14 03:32:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescariestadverbs/pseuds/thescariestadverbs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas wonders if Dean remembers they aren’t actually married? </p><p>Updated! Complete!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Warning Sign

**Author's Note:**

> Notes/Prompt: Came up with this idea after I saw the tag "how do you go from being infinite to being so contained?"

The first time Cas gets sick Dean chalks it up to a withering cold. He tells himself it must just be Cas’s body acclimatizing, just adjusting to the shock of becoming human. After all, there were no books about how to take care of one’s fallen angel and no How-To Guide to help them adjust to the normalness of mortality. 

How do you go from being infinite to being so contained, has become Dean’s motto. He chants it to himself while Cas sneezes and coughs and wheezes in his bed. At two months and thirteen days with no change Dean really starts to worry. Cas just isn’t getting any better. Adjusting to being human must take time, he tells himself, it’s not going to happen overnight. He tries to push the worry down deep, to keep it from Cas and from Sam. The truth is, the acclimatizing isn’t going as well as any of them had hoped. 

“Maybe it’s allergies?” Sam speculates, “And really, it’s not like we feed him the best. I don’t think macaroni and cheese is the best diet...”

The flu-like symptoms persist though, and there are weeks when Dean and Sam swear Cas is living in the bunker’s first floor bathroom. Sometime during the process Sam does them all a favor and convinces Cas he should be hooked up to an IV. “Fluids, at least. You have to have something until you can keep food down again.” Cas agrees, and with Sam’s help spends the next two weeks carting around an IV bag. 

When the fever hits Dean tries to flush it out with hot soups and hot teas. Cas loves tea. Is it feed a cold and starve a fever or the other way around, he wonders as he adjusts the cold compress on Cas’s head. “Chai,” Cas says, “Chai is the best. I wish I could get us the real thing.” 

“Chai?” Dean responds.

“Tea, from India. It is very fragrant.” Cas is smiling. He’s trying so hard to keep up appearances for the sake of Dean. Sam too, but Dean is his main focus. Cas is having trouble focusing as it is, really, so he can only handle one of them at a time. 

“The real thing? Yeah, for sure, Cas. When you get better our first stop will be India.” Dean slips, and kisses him on the forehead then, sitting on the edge of his bed, “You should sleep right now, Cas.” 

Eventually, Cas starts to get restless. He’s tired of his bed and the four walls around it. He makes his way to the couch just outside the main hall every morning. “I can’t lay there anymore,” he tells Dean, “At least let me keep you company while you read. I’m so tired of laying in that bed.” Dean moves his stuff off the couch to make room. He would read and Cas would doze. Sometimes they would watch TV. On good days they would play cards, and when he was feeling up to it Cas was a shark. On bad days he would read in the chair next to Cas’s bed.

Dean never fancied himself as a religious man, even after learning about God and angels. But when he saw Cas’s face take a grayish tinge he couldn’t help himself. He begged and pleaded with God. He considered summoning the crossroads demon. Anyone who could help Cas. 

It’s when the pain starts that Sam intervenes. The swollen lymph nodes are icing on the cake. “Hospital, Dean,” Sam says.

“I can fix this, Sam” Dean hates doctors and hospitals and trusting anyone but the three of them, “They won’t know how to help him. He was an angel for crying out loud.”

“Was. He’s human now. What if…” Sam runs a shaky hand through his hair, “What if something is really wrong with him?”

“You can’t just drop out of the sky and get cancer, can you?” Dean whispers back to him, “You are such a fucking know-it-all.” He walks over to the counter and pours himself a glass of whiskey. He downs it in one go. 

From where he sits Sam gives Dean his most patient glare, “It doesn’t hurt to try.”

“He’s right.” Neither of them had heard Cas walk in. He is pale and so very, very thin. He’s leaning against the wall for support and sweat is pouring down his skin. The ten-step walk from his bedroom to the living room has taken all his energy and he can barely hold himself up. 

Dean just stares at him, like he is really seeing him for the first time in months. When Cas starts to fall down he can’t even move. Sam catches Cas and moves to seat him on the couch. Dean sits on the coffee table and takes Cas’s hand in his, “I didn’t realize,” he says softly, “I didn’t think.” But Cas is already asleep.  
“We’ll take him in the morning.” Sam pats Dean’s shoulder before heading to his room. 

Much to Cas’s dismay he seems to be learning all the uncomfortable feelings associated with being human. Too quickly, his hospital stay introduces him to new pokes and prods, pains and annoyances. His patience and optimism wither away waiting for results, and waiting for the nurse, waiting for the doctor all of which tell him nothing. 

Dean’s at his worse here too. He hasn’t gone home or slept or showered in days. He paces around Cas’s room. He sits in the vistor’s chair, tapping his foot. “You’re making me anxious,” Cas tells him. 

“I’m not leaving you, Cas. Seriously.” Dean’s all rolling eyes and snarling lips these days. “This is a family thing. You don’t leave family.” Cas briefly recalls the moment Dean told the nurse and the doctor that they were married just so they would stop trying to kick him out. 

“Can you at least get me a Coke then?” The night nurse, the older one with the gray hair and the sad eyes told him Coke was good for nausea and headaches. She hadn’t had an exact reason why but she had been right, there was something it in that seemed to settle his stomach. 

Dean stands and stretches, and Cas notices then how skinny Dean is getting. His sickness is illness is affecting them both. Dean fishes some change out of his pocket, “No problem.” He squeezes Cas’s hand and kisses him on the head before he leaves. Cas wonders if Dean remembers they aren’t actually married?  
The doctor chooses this moment to come back, “Would you like me to wait for your husband?” he asks.

Cas shakes his head. He needs to do this on his own. When the doctor is done Cas is confused and angry, he’s rattled and shaken. His stomach lurches with nausea, either from his disease or his nerves, and he doesn’t know which but he doesn’t see the point in caring now. He uses the moment alone to breathe out a sigh of unease. He’s so tired of shaking, of being so tired all the time, of watching Dean wilt away beside him. He misses being able to sit up without the action making him so tired he needs a nap after. 

Dean comes back in carrying two paper cups. He puts them both on the table and reaches over for the button to help Cas sit up. He unconsciously brushes a stray eyelash from Cas’s face before he straightens up and hands him one of the cups, “It’s a little flat,” he says. The coke fizzes out of the straw and drips on the bed. Cas blows out another breath.

“Glioblastoma.” 

“Glio-what?” Dean looks like he’s been hit by a truck. He sits down slowly on the edge of Cas’s hospital bed, a hand out to steady himself. 

“Stage four, glioblastoma.” 

“Cas,” Dean is staring at him, his eyes are wide and serious, “What is that?”

“Brain Cancer?” Cas whispers. He tries to meet Dean’s eyes but he can’t, it’s just too hard to see him so upset. “Brain Cancer.” He says again, more confidently. He’s struggling to be strong for Dean. Hell, Cas is struggling just to stay awake at this point. 

“I heard you,” Dean says it so quietly Cas wonders if he spoke at all. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” there really isn’t anything else to say. 

Dean’s head snaps up in rage, “Oh hell no. There is no time for sorry, Cas. We can fix this, there has to be something. Some way. Dammit, Cas.” 

“I don’t know yet,” Cas says shakily. He holds out his hand and tries so hard to still it. He wants so badly to stop shaking. 

Dean grabs his hand, holding it as still as he can, “We’ve beaten worse, Cas.”

“Yes, I know. But it’s not the same.” 

And it isnt the same. Dean never leaves his side, through the chemo, the radiation. Through vomit and hair loss. Dean is there on the good days, the bad days, the in-between days. The nurses all know him by name, and it gets to the point where Dean knows them, their husbands and their children. He knows Cas’s chart and schedule better than the doctor and he’s the first to ask when Cas’s treatment is late. 

Sam is there a lot too. He leaves to get food and clothes for Dean. To pick up natural teas and remedies he reads about on his laptop. He brings a shaman, a rabbi, a priest, an old Chinese lady who smells like fish. Sometimes Cas wonders who is angrier, himself, Sam or Dean. They seem to take turns. 

Dean washes his hair in the bathroom sometimes. The few moments the nurses catch Cas alone they comment on how nice it is that his husband stays by his side, and Cas forgets, sometimes, that they aren’t actually married. The medication confuses him, and it’s becoming more frequent that he pulls Dean into his bed at night so he doesn’t have to sleep alone. 

Dean forgets too. 

It’s a few months before Cas starts to show some improvement. They tell him the tumor is shrinking. He has more energy. More good days than bad. They tell him they can’t take the tumor out but if he keeps improving than maybe one day he could go home. Cas can’t even remember what home is but he clutches Dean’s hand and smiles when they tell him. 

 


	2. Chemotherapy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cancer, Dean learns, is just another form of Hell.

Dean can’t shake the idea that Cas’s grace had been so powerful it broke through the thin veil and fragility of his vessel. That Cas’s grace had caused the cancer that was now burning its way through his human body like a nuclear branding, leaving their lives feeling like the aftermath of Chernobyl. Cas’s strength through the whole process astounds Dean, for someone with such little human experience, outside of lying in his bed for a two years, Cas manages his pain and discomfort well. He remains so positive that Sam and Dean are able to breathe out for the first time in what feels like forever. The positivity spreads. 

The clichés, however, about life feeling more valuable when someone’s days are numbered are true, and honestly, Dean thinks he of all people should understand. Cas improves, and then he sinks a little deeper. The scariest moments were when the chemotherapy starts. That is when Dean is scared he might actually lose Cas permanently. It’s in those early days when Cas says it feels like his skin is burning from the inside out, or melting off, or that he wishes he would start on fire just so he didn’t have to feel the chemicals working through his body, stealing decades of life from him. 

Dean sees Cas cry for the first time, and not just a few tears, but heart wrenching sobbing. Cas cries so hard that he makes himself sick. Dean consoles him the best he knows how, after all, he knows how terrifying it is to be dying. But waiting for hell hounds and having cancer tear through your brain are two different things. He feels Cas’s last few days looming, and not wanting anything to go unsaid, so he tells Cas how much he means to him and Sam. He’s family, after all. 

It’s during these early days that Dean begins sharing a bed with Cas every night. It takes him a while to build up the courage to ask if his presence would help now that they were home at the bunker. The truth is, however, that Dean didn’t want to sleep alone, and he can’t sleep alone. He can’t sleep without knowing Cas is safe, and beside him. Cas doesn’t falter when he moves over to make room for him on the tiny bed. 

“It’s not a sex thing.” Dean tells Sam when the topic comes up. 

Sam laughs it off with a, “yeah okay, Dean.” Sam, however, is just as scared as the other two, and often finds himself sleeping in the hallway outside Cas’s room just in case they need him. It turns out, not to Sam’s surprise, because he knows his brother well - that it’s really not a sex thing. Not even close. It's Dean taking care of Cas who can barely stand to be touched because it hurt too much, and the two men’s loneliness in the dark. It’s Cas thinking about how he would never get a chance to live before he died, and how any spirituality he ever felt had somehow left him in the chemical shit storm of chemotherapy. He spends his nights thinking about his vessel laying in the ground, empty and alone forever. It's Dean, thinking about how he might lose Cas from something other than cancer. 

The chemo comes to a momentary finish and slowly, but surely Cas’s hair starts to grow back in, and it finally feels like they have permission to get their lives back to normal. The first time they laugh the sound is so foreign it makes them laugh again. Sam starts sleeping in his own bed again. Cas sees the sunshine for the first time in what feels like eternity. The whole world seems to breathe a sigh of relief with them. Cas even employs Sam’s help in making a pie for Dean, and even the “not a sex thing” progresses into something more. 

Cancer, Dean learns, is just another form of Hell. 

Dean still sleeps in Cas’s bed when the chemo ends. It’s a like a ritual for them, going to bed at the same time and falling asleep together. Gradually their bodies move closer together during the night, still filled with nightmares and darkness, until one morning Dean finds himself wrapped around Cas’s body. It’s like a light bulb goes off, really, when he realizes he doesn’t feel the same, but he welcomes the feeling of Cas pressed against him. It’s not long before Dean finds himself reaching for Cas before they are asleep. 

Dean grins, feeling in high spirits at the thought, that now it was common for t-shirts and pajama pants to make their way to floor during the night as they move closers together. Now that Cas isn’t experiencing hot and cold flashes they could actually touch. Now that Cas doesn’t feel like his skin is going to burn him a live, Dean can feel him again. He presses his forehead to Cas’s temple, reaching out to run a hand down his arm. “Cas,” he whispers, “are you awake?”

“Hmm?” comes Cas’s reply.

“Can I hold you?” Dean asks. Cas stirs, rolling over and tucking his head thoughtlessly under Dean’s chin.

“Mhmmm,” Cas mumbles and tugs at Dean’s t-shirt before he settles comfortably, and drapes his arm across Dean’s torso to pull him closer. 

Dean can feel the heat rising up from his chest, and anxiously he stutters in the dark, “Yeah – Okay – “ he loses his momentary confidence. He doesn’t want to ruin the mood but clearly Cas has no idea what Dean had planned for him. Lazily, Dean begins to stroke Cas’s back through his shirt, trying not to focus on the fist dangerously close to his waistband. He tries to figure out a new course of action. Apparently dinner and movie with Castiel didn’t quite add up to what he wanted, though having his brother there might have ruined the vibe a smidge, so Dean knew he had to ask. “Cas –“ he starts.

“Dean,” Cas’ voice is muffled in Dean’s shirt and it comes out like a purr, vibrating through Dean’s chest. Dean bocks at his mediocre plan of attack and wonders how on earth you tell someone, after spending the last two years caring for them and sleeping beside them, that you want to bang the shit out of them without sounding insensitive? 

“Can I –“ he stumbles again, “Can I touch you?”

Cas looks up at him, “You are touching me?” 

“That’s not, uhm, that’s not what I meant.” Dean wonders if he could sound any stupider. 

He can almost hear the gears turning in Cas’s mind as he wakes, “Oh…” Cas responds. He shifts slowly closer, running his arm up Dean’s torso to touch his face before it falls back to Dean’s stomach to rub small circles. His touch is warm and welcomed. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Dean whispers, “We don’t have to.” 

Cas smiles, his voice still crackly with sleep, “You can’t hurt me, Dean, I’ll be fine. The doctor even said I’m improving. I’m stronger.” Dean nods and rubs his chin over Cas’s head, smelling his cheap shampoo. He pulls Cas tightly to his chest, holding him there. Cas sighs happily, “this feels nice,” he says and all Dean can do is nod.  
When he finally loosens his grip Cas moves his hands to run his fingertips over Dean’s cheek and jaw, pulling his face down to meet his eyes before kissing him. Dean slides his free hand around the back of Cas’s neck to deepen the kiss. They break, breathlessly, to pull at Dean’s shirt and throw it off to the corner of the room. Dean grabs Cas’s face again and kisses him as hard as he can, trying to project so much meaning through the simple act, smashing their teeth together in the processes. “Get these off,” growls Cas, tugging at Dean’s boxers before he kicks his own off. 

Dean manages a, “I just want to feel you,” between hurried kisses along Cas’s collarbone. His breath is hot on Cas’s skin when he breaks to look down at their bodies. He smiles and climbs on top of Cas. All of Cas’s soft curves, if he had any, are long gone with the deprivation and malnutrition of illness. Dean pauses to kiss the sharp edges of Cas’s bones, running his hands over them, trying so hard to sooth them, to pull the poison from his body. He sits up, taking in the beauty of his fallen angel, while running a finger slowly down Cas’s stomach to his semi-erect cock. “You’re okay?” Dean asks, of course he knows that this needs to go slower than he wants it to. 

“I’m okay,” Cas assures him, rocking his hips so his cock rubs against Dean’s, “It’s okay.” Letting out a shaky breath he sits up and places a gentle kiss to Dean’s mouth, “just keep going…” the sound of his voice echoing between the curve of their bodies. He strokes a finger soothingly across Dean’s jaw. Their lips meet tentatively again, Dean trying hard not to rush. 

“Relax,” Dean grazes his hand down Cas’s sides, “just relax.” He gently guides Cas back down without breaking their kiss so his head meets the pillow. He slowly starts to stroke Cas’s cock, enjoying the feeling of it getting harder with his touch. He feels his own getting harder as Cas moans. 

Cas writhes with disappointment when Dean lets him go and moves off of his legs, he whimpers and arches his back, trying to get some friction. He briefly considers begging Dean to touch his cock again when he feels the tip of Dean’s tongue run along it. He can’t remember ever feeling anything as good as Dean’s mouth on him. It’s overwhelming, really, and it doesn’t take long before he says, “I don’t think I can take this,” breathlessly through his moans. Dean takes it as a sign to switch back to his hand, stroking Cas quickly. 

Dean almost looses it when Cas arches his hips, and explodes, silently coming all over his own chest and stomach. 

“Dean,” Cas speaks slowly, trying to catch his breath, “Dean, I want you to.”

Dean isn’t sure he could have stopped himself even if he wanted to, but it helps that Cas is sure. He reaches in the nightstand for some lotion and quickly gets himself ready. He climbs back between Cas’s legs, placing kiss after kiss on his stomach until he reaches Cas’s mouth, “just remember to relax,” he whispers as he starts to ease himself in. 

Cas has never felt anything like it, the stretching and burning as Dean works his cock inside him. Dean gives him a break, pulling back a little, before continuing in. Cas is torn between the pleasure and the pain of it all, willing his body to adjust to the intrusion faster because all he wants is Dean to fuck him. 

As Dean slowly pulls back again he can’t help but moan into the kiss, feeling Cas all around him is almost too much to handle. He’s trying so hard to go slow it almost hurts. When he feels Cas buck up against him he loses control and starts fucking him in wild abandon. Cas grabs the sheets, the pillows, the headboard, anything . He writhes, twists and twitches. He arches against Dean’s chest. Dean just can’t handle watching him anymore. He grabs Cas’s hair and kisses him deeply as he comes inside him. When he’s done, Dean who is panting, slowly eases himself out of Cas and lies down beside him. “Cas, I’m sorry. That was too much…” 

“No, no,” Cas cuts him off, “You didn’t hurt me. That was…” he trails off, unable to think of a word to describe how he feels. 

Dean is surprised how nervous he feels, even after all that, but after everything they have been through he just goes for broke, “Cas, I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Cas intertwines his fingers in Dean’s, “I know the last two years have been hard on you too.” 

The reality of their situation crashes back into both of them. The doctor said Cas was improving, and that he didn’t need chemo anymore but they still couldn’t take the tumor out. “I don’t want to waste any more time, Dean. I want you to go back to your normal life. The doctor said I could go with you.” Cas looks at Dean thoughtfully, “I promise I won’t hunt. But I can help with research.”

Dean, of course, isn’t sure about any of that. He takes a moment to mull it over when a moment, from when Cas first started to get sick, comes to mind. “I could take you to India maybe.” 

“India?” Cas’s eyes widen.

“Wasn’t there some tea you liked from there? Chia?” 

“Chai,” Cas laughs, “Chai tea, Dean.” 

Dean wraps an arm around Cas’s shoulder and pulls him close, “Chai, sure, whatever.” He smiles as Cas lays his head on his chest and starts to tell him about India and all the things they could see there. Dean can’t help but be overwhelmed by the whole last two years, by Cas’s struggles and grace through his illness, and by how they finally made it here. Cas is okay. They can move forward, finally. 

They both sleep better than they have in years. Cas wakes in the early morning. The first thing he notices is the headache. It’s one of those deep, thudding headaches, the kind that hurts when you open your eyes, and the thought of moving is almost as painful as moving is. He notices it’s still dark out and he slowly eases himself from Dean’s arms. He figures he must be dehydrated, especially after their little tryst.

Slowly, Cas makes his way to the bathroom. It’s a struggle to get there; he can feel every step in his head, pounding. By the time he gets to the bathroom he has to sit down, he’s feeling a little sick and a little dizzy. He reaches for the sink and slowly fills up a glass with water. He drinks another after it, and leans his head against the cool counter top. He will go back to Dean, he just needs to rest his head a minute. He’ll phone the doctor in the morning, just in case.


	3. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good morning,” Dean says cheerfully.

Dean is woken by the sunshine on his face. He stretches out lazily, enjoying the memory of the night before. He rolls over and notices he is alone. Cas must have gone to make breakfast or something, he figures. He’s pretty sure he can smell bacon. Unable to wipe the smile from his face he throws on his boxers and heads to the kitchen, a little disappointed when he finds Sam at the stove.

“Good morning,” he says cheerfully.

Sam snorts, “Good for those of you who got laid last night. Not so good for those of us who got to listen to it.”

“I’m not sorry,” Dean flashes his trademark grin. 

“No, I wouldn’t be either,” Sam cracks an egg into a bowl.

Dean notices the cooked bacon on the counter, “Since when do you make breakfast?” He asked, snatching a piece. 

“It’s cheaper than eating out, especially since we are here all the time. Cas likes to cook, well watch me cook anyway. It’s what we do when you aren’t here. Where is Cas, anyway? He should eat.” 

Dean shrugs, “I thought he was down here. You haven’t seen him?”

“Bathroom door is shut. Maybe he is taking a bath?” There is a sizzle as Sam pours the eggs into the pan on the tiny stove, “You should go check. It’s not like he’ll mind if you interrupt him,” Sam winks. 

Dean rolls his eyes and steals another piece of bacon before he slips off the stool and wanders towards the bathroom. He knocks on the door, “Hey, Cas, are you in there?” Silence. He knocks again.

The door is unlocked when he tries the knob. 

He won’t remember opening the door later, or screaming for Sam. He won’t remember cutting his hands, and his knees on the broken glass on the floor. He’ll only remember Castiel. Laying motionless on the floor. 

Sam rushes into the bathroom to see Dean, bloody and fumbling aimlessly on the floor, shaking Cas. “Whose blood is it,” he says in a whirlwind, suddenly covered in a cold sweat. “Whose blood? Dean!” When Dean doesn’t answer Sam grabs his arm and hauls him violently to his feet, pushes him out of the bathroom. There is no time for gentleness or pity when he does it. He picks up Cas swiftly, mentally noting how thin Cas really is, before he shouts, “Car, Dean. Now.” All he can smell is blood and burnt eggs. 

Dean also won’t remember walking to the car or climbing into the back, with Cas’s head in his lap. “Please, Cas, please wake up,” he’s crying, tears streaming down his face, “Please please please please.” He will remember Cas’s shallow breathing, the shaking, the confusion when he opened his eyes.

“Dean?” Cas speaks slowly as if he isn’t sure of the what he is saying or maybe what he is seeing.

“It’s okay, Cas. It’s okay.” Dean pets Cas’s hair back awkwardly, tries to kiss his forehead but ends up smushing his face into his hairline. He closes his eyes again. “Cas?” Dean shakes him, but he doesn’t open his eyes again.  
“Drive faster,” his voice breaks. 

In the end it doesn’t matter how fast Sam drove. Castiel’s last breath is long before they reach the hospital. Sam opens the door to the back seat where Dean is clutching Cas’s body, begging for him to wake up. Slowly, Dean gathers Cas in his arms and gets out of the car. He carries him into the hospital, past the emergency desk, past Sam who is calling after him, past the nurses and the doctors, until he comes to the hospital chapel.

Dean lays Cas on the ground in front of the altar, “Is this what you wanted?” he asks, “Did you give him back just to take him away again?” Dean’s voice is strained, and his face is wet with tears when Sam reaches the chapel. 

It’s heartbreaking to see his brother like this, resting on his bloody knees with Cas’s limp body in front of him. Sam wants nothing more than to join Dean in his anger, to yell and curse the God that has done this to them, over and over again. But he knows it’s useless, Cas’s first lesson to Dean was that you can’t change fate no matter what you do. 

Sam kneels beside Dean, rests a hand over the nape of his brother’s neck. The nurse comes in with an orderly and they take Cas away and still the brothers sit on the floor of the chapel. 

The doctors explain it, not that Dean or Sam really care, that a piece of the tumor broke off and got lodged in his brain, causing a buildup of fluids until his brain couldn’t handle it. They said it’d probably been building for months. They couldn’t see anything on Cas’s previous scan so maybe around three or four months, they say. But Dean knew, that it was Cas who's energy wasn't fit for the life they were living. That it was impossible to contain such an impossible being in such a small bit of space. 

It was painless, they say, and Dean feels sick.

Dean could laugh, how could anyone call death painless? It feels pretty painful to him. The gut-wrenching, heart throbbing pain crawling through his being, didn’t feel very painless. It hurts so much he throws up all over the sidewalk outside of the hospital. 

Dean waits in the car when Sam stops at the bunker to grab their clothes. He fiddles with the radio. He goes through the glove compartment. He picks at a stray thread sticking out of the seat. He gets out of the car to throw up again. Sam hands him a bottle of water when he comes back outside and sits beside him on the ground.

“We better get going,” Sam says finally. 

Dean stands, avoids knocking his fresh stitches on his jeans. He opens the passenger door before he finally looks at the bunker. No, he wouldn’t ever be coming back here. He slides into the car, “Where were you thinking?”

Sam hands him a map, “I got a call last week about a job in Indiana. I was going to turn it down but since we are heading out anyway.”

“Let’s go.” Dean pulls his sunglasses out of the glove compartment. He doesn’t breath out again until he can’t see the bunker in the side mirror anymore.


End file.
